


The Acquisitionist : Part One, the Lieutenant

by freshneverfrozen



Series: the Acquisitionist [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, He really would rather you weren't, Hint: the Acquisitionist is you, I like big tropes and I cannot lie, Jealousy, Kylo Ren doesn't know why you're still alive, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pining, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, You have a Bucky Barnes arm, fluff what fluff?, nice(ish)Hux, poor Mitaka, reader fic but from Hux's and Mitaka's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshneverfrozen/pseuds/freshneverfrozen
Summary: You had always been proud of your self-proclaimed title as the galaxy's foremost acquisitionist. It provided you with money, adventure, and professional acclaim. Credits, however, barely rounded out your three favorite things - soundly behind your health and Corellian whiskey.By a bizarre turn of events - namely a run in with a certain Resistance pilot - you find yourself trekking across Dathomir and Moraband with the likes of General Hux and his indomitably nervous lieutenant. Between them and the Grump Master General of the First Order's bucket brigade, you're pretty sure that your previously touted line of work is grossly, indisputably overrated.**Reader Insert, various POVs, the least of which is 2nd Person**





	1. The Good Lieutenant

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's the dice. There will be three to four parts, all different POVs. The first two will be roughly three chapters each. It's me toying with telling the whole story in different pieces. 
> 
> Part One - Lieutenant Mitaka  
> Part Two - General Hux  
> Part Three - Kylo Ren  
> Part Four - Reader
> 
> This is a work in progress and I'm open to pairings either here or down the road. There may be a sequel, you know, if Poe or Kylo floats your boat, revs your motor, lights your saber, etc...

She calls herself an ‘acquisitionist.’ She’s very adamant about it, too. 

Mitaka supposes she can maintain the right to her assertions - the blaster isn’t to her head, after all. No, it’s to his. Cold and dangerous and he swears he can feel the plasma cartridge humming inside the chamber. 

This has all just been an unfortunate set of occurrences, really. The thought doesn’t make him feel any better, but the observation is not inaccurate. 

This ‘acquisitionist’ has apparently been betrayed, by one of her own ‘acquisitions’ no less. Mitaka simply has the misfortune of being caught in the middle. How does one _acquire_ a person? Would that not simply be a ‘bounty hunter?’ 

Her job of _acquiring_ had the unfortunate coincidence of taking place precisely where the First Order had decided to dispatch him and an accompanying squad of stormtroopers. Their stumbling upon a freighter readying itself for lift-off hadn’t been expected by anyone, not as he and the troopers had emerged, sweating and frustrated, from the swampy forestland they’d been traipsing through for ten klicks. Finding the destination already occupied had been the first of the inauspicious events that were to follow. Said events currently had him at the mercy of an armed thug on a ship captained by a woman who had apparently meant to ‘return’ the thug to an interested party at an undisclosed location. 

As it stands, the woman seems to be running almost as short on luck as he is. 

She seems none too pleased with the idea, either. She’s furious - Mitaka doesn’t even know her, has never seen or heard breath of her, and even he can spot that barely contained rage boiling up around the edges. It’s in the flash of her eyes, the hue of them sharp and gleaming and he thinks, just maybe, she grows even angrier as the blaster is pressed deeper into his flesh. 

“Let him go, Dameron,” she snarls to the man who holds him captive; it _is_ a snarl, coherency caught up amidst all that buzzing danger. “Just don’t shoot him. He’s got nothing to do with this.” 

Dameron - so that’s who has him. Unlike hers, that is a name Mitaka has heard. That name and the trouble that goes with it had nearly gotten him killed once before. 

Funny, he notes half-deliriously, she doesn’t look like Resistance. Has a noticeable lack of grunge and desperation. She’s just honed curves and intelligence so terrifying he doesn’t need tangible proof because he can see it in her eyes. 

The real threat from her is one he notices after the fact. If he’d seen it before, he may have been a hair more cautious in boarding the ship for inspection. He wonders if Dameron has seen it, too. Because she’s not completely human, not like he had assumed. No, she’s augmented, like some of the stormtroopers Phasma trains. He spots it when she clenches her fist, her right side angled toward him - them, because Dameron is at his back, tanned arm locked at his throat and free hand keeping that blaster close - and the sleeveless shirt she wears reveals too much. It shows the arm that is missing and the slate-gray ultrachrome prosthetic that has replaced it. The fingers are still dainty and feminine, shaped for braiding hair and touching faces, but they’re flexing with the beat of Mitaka’s heart and he understands well enough that if this so-called acquisitionist could just get a chance, even just a sliver of one, she’d be on Dameron with all the fury of a woman scorned. 

That chance never comes, not as Dameron uses him as a shield and forces her back with the few troops who had accompanied him onto the ship for the impromptu inspection. 

The pilot’s words are like liquid smoke in his ear but they’re for her and _oh_ , is there bad blood there. They stare each other down with an animosity that makes him think they might have been good friends in another life. 

And then, without a shot being fired or his brains splattered or that metal arm of hers tearing into skin, it’s over. He’s being kicked down the boarding ramp, turned loose because of those so-called morals the Resistance touts, and he rolls to a stop at her feet. 

She reaches for him, one hand soft and skin and the other polished metal that could break every bone in his body. He almost reaches back, might have out of instinct if he’d been able to get past the pounding in his ears, but suddenly the stormtroopers are on her, forcing her down into the dirt with him. 

She lets them without a sound. 

……………. 

General Hux must have an undocumented soft spot for intelligent women because the First Order’s one and only acquisitionist is still alive and _theirs_. 

It had been something to behold. Mitaka had been not three feet away and he still can’t forget the image. The woman on her knees, all that fury gone, replaced with personal concern he couldn’t fault her for, and no matter how frightened she might have been staring up at the general in all his indignation, that mind of hers still proved impossible to back into a corner. 

Somehow ‘you’re a prisoner and Resistance colluder’ had turned into ‘you work for us now, get to it.’ 

It had been quite a show, watching her dragged before them in chains, only to all but ignore General Hux as he threatened and postured. Those keen eyes had been sweeping the mobile command base they’d set up planetside as part of Commander Ren’s newest fixation and quest to find ever more power. Scans of the planet’s ruined temples, recordings, blueprints, every bit of information they had collected over the last few days being sweated over by teams of researchers with Hux personally cracking the whip at their backs. 

And she’d come up and solved the whole damned problem while her neck was on the chopping block. 

A beautiful mind. A thing worth marveling at. And marvel Mitaka does. 

He gapes in the background as Hux stares down the match he’s finally met and seizes the obvious opportunity. Within moments, the woman has deciphered precisely what they’d been searching for and gives them first piece of the puzzle as to its location. A crystal of immense power, a few likely locations, some abbreviated background history. ‘A lot of free time’ is the only reason she gives for how she knows such things. Hux leaves shortly thereafter and Mitaka suspects it’s to sulk in an office somewhere until his bafflement has passed. 

It’s no wonder that she’s standing beside Mitaka now, her hands no longer bound by chains, and _stars_ , is she happy about it. Positively elated as she grins at him and points at the newest clue, beckoning him _look_. 

He doesn’t mean to look as much as he does. 

But apparently, they’re to be partners now, or at least he her supervisor, and is it so bad for him to want to know something about her? Like what color her eyes really are? Or how she can be so pleasantly rosy amid all this humidity when he feels like he’s been dredging through the seven hells? No, he decides, it’s not bad at all; he’s not remiss in the slightest. All completely normal. _Normal_. 

Everything but her. 

………………………. 

The first location proves fruitless. It’s not the acquisitionist’s fault, as she’s quick to remind him. 

“It’s part of the fun!” she laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. She touches him with her flesh and blood hand, always seems to make it a point to do _that_. He wonders why. “You do like fun, don’t you, Lieutenant?” 

“I...I...appreciate shore leave.” There’s something in his throat. It’s been there for the last two days since he first got tossed off the ship and landed prone at her feet. 

She scoffs and somehow even that makes him smile. “We’ll work on it,” she says, more to herself than to him. He finds himself looking forward to the prospect. 

He clears his throat and pulls out the datapad he’s stored away in his pack. “ _Ahem_ , it would seem that nothing useful is going to come of this location. The next is...five klicks south.” 

“That’ll feel more like ten thanks to the swamp. Can those spangly boots of yours make it?” 

Well, _of course_ his boots would hold up. They were specially designed, reinforced bantha leather - oh. Mitaka drags a hand over his face, hoping to wipe away not only the sheen of sweat but the flush that he knows is creeping its way across his features. She’s already laughing, bumping his shoulder again, and striding off before the first nervous crack of a smile breaks past his lips. 

For the next hour, they slog through mud and twisting roots that seem to make a conscious effort to catch their ankles and knees. The stormtroopers that follow them are silent, wary company and it doesn’t escape Mitaka that their blaster rifles are as much trained on the acquisitionist as they are the flora and fauna. She takes it stride, apparently no stranger to suspicion and maybe that shouldn’t fascinate him the way it does. But he spends the time distracting himself with thoughts of the experiences she’s had, wonders where the swagger and resolve had come from, where she’d gotten the little scars that nick her natural hand... 

She breaks into the next clearing first, her hands settling on her hips appreciatively as she takes in the ruins that cut jaggedly across the little valley. 

“Now this is promising!” She turns back to look at him swatting his way through the final yards of brush and hanging vines. “Your thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

He takes a moment to enjoy the view before turning his eyes to the sky. “I agree,” he says. “Night is falling, however. We can’t risk the descent in the dark.” 

“You’re the boss.” 

She looks, too, at the setting sun, dim as it is, and then to the hulking star that shadows most of the planet in a deep crimson glow. It’s ominous and if he weren’t already watching her, he might have missed the clenching and unclenching of her prosthetic. It seems habitual. He wonders if she’s even aware she does it. There is no other sign of her uneasiness, not as she helps the soldiers make camp, pitching three small tents and forgoing any light sources save for the moon. 

Mitaka is just spreading out his rations for the evening when she settles down beside him. She hasn’t eaten, he notices. Indeed, her mind seems focused on everything but, his own person included. Those bright eyes are studying him and he can’t bring himself to meet them for longer than a moment. He fiddles instead with the wrapper of a protein bar and waits for her to speak. 

The question that finally comes surprises him. “Are you very happy with the First Order?” 

He chews thoughtfully, looking busy for the sake of buying time. He’s never thought about it. “Yes,” he says eventually, the dryness of the bar making his voice rough, “it’s an honor working directly for the general.” 

She grins and this one is different. This one isn’t friendly or teasing. It’s calling him out on an answer that isn’t an answer at all. 

She’s merciful and asks instead, “How long have you been with them?” 

“Since I was sixteen. So, twelve years?” 

He hears her hum softly. “So long. I was at the university on Bar’leth at sixteen.” 

“What did you study?” He swallows another bite of the bar and waits, interested. 

“Antiquities. I dropped out three years later, didn’t finish my studies.” She must can tell that he wants to ask the reason, not that he dares. It’s too impolite, too forward. For the first time, she is the one who looks away first. Her features go taunt, her lips thin. 

“I was at home during a break. The First Order had taken control of our city, using it as a base of operations on the planet. _And_ apparently a prison for high-ranking citizens suspected of treason.” 

Her ultrachrome fingers splay over her knee, plucking at the fabric of her pants. It takes her a moment to speak again. “There was an escort - I remember watching from the window. Stormtroopers and, I don’t know, a senator, maybe? The next thing I know, there's this... _roaring_ in the air and then the walls are caving in on me. Just rubble and dust. Parents screaming. Some Republic gorillas had decided a large-scale strike on a neighborhood to remove one or two players was prudent apparently. An x-wing missed the stormtroopers, you see. Hit our home instead. Duracrete trumps bone, as you can imagine. It was the troopers who pulled me from the rubble, stopped the bleeding. Had a soft spot for them ever since” 

As if to prove it, she looks wanly in the direction of the two-man guard standing nearby. 

Mitaka blinks at her, feeling stupid because he doesn’t know what’s more surprising about her. “I don’t know many people who have a soft spot for stormtroopers, I have to admit.” 

At this, she laughs. She tosses her head back, hair splaying in damp tendrils, and chortles quietly. “No,” she responds breathlessly, “No, I suppose they have their faults, too.” She toes his boot with her own and adds, “Some of their officers aren’t too bad, though.” 

Then she’s gone - she’s standing up and he’s watching her walk away, the half-eaten protein bar crushed in his palm. 

………………………………. 

The trek across the valley to the ruins had almost gone to plan. 

Almost. 

Mitaka never believed in spirits until today, had never put any stock in superstitious mumbo-jumbo he considered created by less civilized aliens to keep their children in line. Certainly, he’d seen the Force in action - had even been personally victimized by it at least once - but this...this was new. 

They’d been within three hundred yards of the ruined temple when the ground had started to hiss and rumble. It took a scream from one of the stormtroopers for them to spot the first of the _things_. Dead things, he had realized upon seeing a boney grey hand strike up from beneath the muck. 

The woman had screamed at him to run, her voice clear and firm over the rain of blaster bolts, and before he could take the first step, that metal hand was closing around his and hauling him forward. 

Now, he vaguely remembers asking her between breaths what they were. He hadn’t wanted to believe her reply. 

“Ghosts...or something like them.” 

She tells him once they are safe within the ruins - deep within them, he might add - that the witches who had once inhabited the planet had created them. “They used their connection to the Force, or whatever their version of it was, to reanimate the dead. Used them as guardians.” 

Her breath is short, chest heaving more from adrenaline than exertion. Mitaka says nothing as she grabs a slab of collapsed stone that is blocking their path with her cybernetics and slings it to the side with all the effort it would take him to push back a curtain. 

“Tell me there’s something here,” he says, “The entire squadron will have been lost for nothing.” 

It’s not the first time he’s seen her eyes narrow in that special brand of annoyance, but it is the first time it’s been directed at him. She could give Hux a run for his credits any day of the week. 

“Why don’t you call your general? Tell him we’ll need an evac out of here.” 

He has no qualms following her orders this time, let’s her have her space and tries not to watch too closely as she lets her eyes trail from wall to wall. The holocall is just ending when she emerges from an adjacent chamber with a grin on her face. 

“We’ll be needing that survey drone after all, Lieutenant? You still got it?” 

He nods and rummages in his pack before withdrawing the little drone, one no larger than the palm of his hand. She takes it from him without a word and returns to the shadows she came from. The chamber he follows her too is larger than the first, the walls higher, with pools of a liquid his gut tells him isn’t water running in parallel channels from one end to the other. 

“I knew this location was promising!” Her professed fondness for stormtroopers must not be so strong that the loss of his squad bothers her for long. She’s practically buzzing with renewed vigor and it’s scary how much in common she has with his commanding officer. “This was the clan mother’s sanctuary - see there?” she points to a point on the opposite wall. “It’s a similar relief to the one your general was studying. Can you boost me up? I want to have a closer look myself, make certain the dates are in line.” 

By boost her up, she apparently means sit on his shoulders because not a minute later her knees are on either side of his head, his hands settled awkwardly over her thighs to steady her. She spends the entire while rattling off observations and making excited noises that are driving the empty space his failure had left deeper into the back of his mind and replacing it with thoughts he ought not ever think. She’s warm amid the temple’s coolness, burning hot like a sun, and he can smell the sweat and the essence of her all around him. 

He’s fairly certain she asks him a question or four before he suddenly feels her fingers in his hair, his cap lifted from his head and, as he comes to realize, placed askew atop her own. 

“Did you hear me?” 

Mitaka is glad for the dark of the place. That way, she can’t see him go pale. 

“S-sorry,” he struggles, “What was that?” 

“I said I’ve got good news and bad. Which do you want first?” 

“Good?” 

Her fingers rake back his hair from his eyes and she leans over to peer down at him. “Your special crystal-whatnot was here. In this very temple.” 

Mitaka swallows, hoping to feel the warmth of her fingertips again despite the clawing damp. “And the bad?” 

“Your special crystal-whatnot _was_ here.” She taps his hands. “Put me down, then. Let’s have another look round.” 

She slides down his back, her boots landing with a soft thud. Had she meant to press so close to him when she did it? Mitaka shakes his head, sweeping a hand back to tidy the hair she’d mussed. 

“Ideas?” he asks, tugging at his uniform, granting himself a moment to lament the gathering of mud that will never wash out. 

“Always,” she replies and he doesn’t doubt it for a minute. 

It turns out that she’s got several and it’s the third one that pans out for them. The large chambers have given way to a much smaller space up a row of stairs so narrow he’d had to turn sideways to ascend. 

“Ah,” she says as they breach the little room, “the feretory.” 

She goes immediately to a relief panel across from the room’s entrance and runs her hand over it. 

“I knew it,” Mitaka can hear the smile in her voice, “Same century as the one in the ritual chamber. That is to say, about eight hundred years newer than everything else you see in here.” 

“I don’t understand…” He goes to stand at her side, tracing his fingers across the same lines she had touched but seeing nothing unusual. 

“Well, your relic isn’t native to this planet. It was brought here from Mimban - I must’ve told Hux this, not you. Sorry. But, the witches here may have actively sought it out for the power it had. Regardless, it either wasn’t here for very long or the various clan mothers during the timespan didn’t advertise it. Notice there are no representations of it anywhere?” 

“But the inscriptions, the ones we’ve been studying?” 

“Oh no, none of those were carved by the women here. Those were added much later, like I said, eight centuries. Different methods of carving, less aging to the stonework...all dead giveaways. Whoever left those intended for someone else to come looking. Or were gloating. Doesn’t matter. Clues, bread crumbs. See them? You should, we’ve been following them.” 

Well, yes, they’ve been on the trail but Mitaka suddenly gets the feeling he’s the one who’s been following the leader. He looks around the room, sees the busted ceramics and toppled statuary, and that same bitter taste of failure begins to spread up the back of his tongue. 

“But...it’s not here?” he asks and knows he’s foolish for hoping her previous answer will have changed. 

Her shoulder brushes against his, chasing away his forlorn look. “You a betting man, Lieutenant?” 

Mitaka’s lips tug down, a terrible expression on him, his mother had said. “No…” 

He feels her suffering exhalation of breath ghost over his face as she pins him with a weary scowl. “Remember what I said about fun? About working on it?” 

“Yes?” 

“So, you’ll take the bet then?” She watches him patiently, adding, “The answer should be yes to that question, by the way.” 

The First Order doesn’t condone gambling of any sort but Mitaka finds himself doubting they’d find out about something so trivial as humoring her. “Wait - what are we betting?” 

The scowl returns with frightening ease. 

He tries once more. “Yes?” 

“Good!” She beams at him. “I’ll bet you that the crystal-whatnot is definitely, irrefutably no longer on this planet.” 

“I hope you’re wrong -” 

“I’m not.” 

“ - but very well.” 

“Excellent!” The sound of her hands clapping together is different from most, skin against metal, but the effect isn’t lost on him. “Lieutenant, if you will stand back. Close your eyes!” 

“Why?” 

“It’s a surprise, for stars’ sake, Mitaka. Just...just close ‘em.” 

He catches himself doing something he hasn’t done since his days before the Academy. He rolls his eyes, a long-suffering, arguably fond sigh escaping him as he does so. In the spirit of compromise, he looks down at his boots instead. 

The woman slips her fingers over edge of the panel, ultrachrome fingers gaining leverage against the stone, and she pulls. The sound of stone scraping stone surprises Mitaka into glancing up. The relief is not as permanent as it had appeared and he quickly steps up to help her drag it further away from the wall until at last, it tumbles to the ground with a final reluctant groan. 

“Ta daa!” she exclaims. 

They both peer through the previously sealed opening, one large enough for a man twice Mitaka’s size to crawl through with ease. 

“Shall we?” she asks. 

She throws her hands out toward him, an invitation, and he is happy to take it - giddy, really - grasping her at the waist and helping her up so that she can twist onto her knees and slide through. He comes just behind her, dropping down into the dusty room. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not a body. Or three. 

Two skeletons draped in faded red wrappings are sprawled near each other. They’re small and frail in size and Mitaka can’t imagine they’d been very imposing even in life, likely two of the witches who had once lived in this place. A third, much larger figure is propped near the wall. Clad in black armor, legs kicked out as though he’d collapsed back against the wall before succumbing. Stains on the floor hint that he might not be far wrong in guessing this one had died from wounds inflicted by the others. An empty pedestal looms in the center of the room, the final clue as to what had happened. 

“I win,” she tells him quietly, once she’s taken in the scene, “It was there. They tried to defend it, but his,” she motions to the body against the wall, “people managed to steal it anyway.” 

“That’s...unfortunate.” 

“For them or you?” The words themselves are sharper than she perhaps intends them. After all, she’s displayed no animosity for the First Order, nor any particular confliction over the loss of life that got them here. In fact, she sounds genuinely curious as to his answer. 

“Both,” Mitaka replies. 

“Oh, I disagree.” 

“Why?” He turns to her, suddenly irritated. The crystal Hux has been so intent on finding isn’t here and he will bear the brunt of the man’s frustrations when they return to base camp. 

“Because,” she says, “I won the bet.” 

Later that night, he’ll wonder how he didn’t see it coming, how he could have missed that new smile she threw at him with her proclamation, the one he hadn’t seen before that he’ll keep catalogued forever. 

Because the smile is small and proud. It crinkles the corners of her eyes and makes his heart catch behind his teeth. That smile is the only warning he has before the little Acquisitionist is reaching up on her toes and gripping his chin between soft fingers. Her lips press to the corner of his mouth quick as a flash and stars, they’re warm and wicked and he _shouldn’t_. 

He shouldn’t. He can’t. 

Mitaka draws back like he’s been burned, his eyes blinking away the phantom of hurt that dances across her face as the rejection registers. 

It’s as much a surprise to him as it is to her how firm his voice is. “I...need to contact the general. See to it that you do your job while I do.” 

She sounds small as she responds, just simple acquiescence, and he tries to not think about how that mind must be turning over every sign she’s been adding up the last few days, figuring out how she’d gotten the math wrong. 

She hadn’t, not really. 

……………………... 


	2. A Lesson in Fondness

By the time Hux has dressed him down, Mitaka can’t quite remember what he’d done wrong in the first place. Careless is the kindest of the things he is called and he thinks the general may be ready to launch into a second tangent if not for the acquisitionist stepping up and sticking her tactful little nose into First Order business. 

“It’s very important that I speak to you, General,” she says quietly, her hands clasped behind her back to display a patience her words haven’t exuded. 

Those terrible blue eyes snap towards her so harshly, Mitaka is afraid they might flay her open. But she stands resolute, her face as intent as the man’s she confronts. A change comes over the general then, and Mitaka can’t remember a time when he’s seen such a thing before. All that he can figure is that the other man see’s in the woman the same that Mitaka does - a subdued strength of mind and spirit that is impossible to look away from the moment one notices it. It can’t be so odd that the general would be so enamored by someone so willing to leap into the fray he’s created, leap and effectively call a ceasefire with only her words and a voice that is as good for scolding as it is laughing. 

“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” the general growls and his back is already to Mitaka before the other man can snap a salute. 

He doesn’t stay, can’t, but as he leaves the pair behind, he finds himself wishing he was there for the conversation. 

. 

………. 

. 

They arrive at the Finalizer at 1500 hours the next day. For how long they’ll be staying, Mitaka hasn’t the faintest idea. There have been murmurs of new destinations, names like Moraband and Korriban that mean nothing to him, and he’s curious how long it will take Hux to mount the second arm of the expedition. The general speaks to few other than the woman during the trip, his bright hair at times nearly falling into her own, their heads bowed so close, fingers taking turns roving over the screen of his datapad. At one point, Mitaka hears what sounds suspiciously like a breathless sort of laugh, the sort that he doubts anyone has heard in years, and when he looks back at the pair, the general’s mouth has quirked up at the corners. 

He doesn’t watch them after that. 

As the woman steps off the transport and takes her initial steps onto a battlecruiser, those clever eyes are blown wide and her steps unsure. She looks uncomfortable and amazed all at once and Mitaka can’t decide why he doesn’t like the sight. By now, he supposes he’s gotten used to seeing her draped in the shadows of ruins and indigenous plants that the Finalizer’s sterile lighting looks too harsh against her. 

“This is... _huge_.” It’s the first thing she’s said to him for nearly two days. She seems unhappy with her assessment of the vessel, rolling her lips, trying to find something better and coming up at a loss. 

“The pride of the First Order’s fleet.” 

Mitaka’s lips have parted to speak but it is not his words that have drawn her gaze. The general is there at her side _again_ , and before the Lieutenant is given a chance, she is being swept away. Escorted personally by Hux himself. 

The sting doesn’t leave him for the two days it takes for him to see her again. 

It’s quite by accident when it happens. A happy, awkward one, but Mitaka won’t complain. It’s early, he’s only rolled out of his bunk half an hour prior, and the training room is empty. He’s no stormtrooper but it is encouraged that he keeps in some semblance of shape during his commission. Besides, the running machines and the cold air of the starship are a welcome reprieve from traipsing through the swamp. 

She’s already beside him when he notices her. That ever-present rosiness still glows at her cheeks and how can her eyes be so bright at 0430? 

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” she chirps as she climbs on the machine beside his, “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Good morning.” He can’t leave it at that. It feels rude, like he’s punishing her and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean to. Not after what had happened in the ruin. He adds cautiously, “You’re up early.” 

“Didn’t sleep.” 

Soon, she’s keeping pace beside him and nothing is said for the first mile she runs. He’s just slowing down when she speaks up again. 

“Hux will be calling a meeting this morning. I’m sure,” a shuddering breath cuts through the words and he has to listen closely to hear her over the sound of both their feet, “I’m sure he’ll message you.” 

“Arm two?” 

“Arm two,” she confirms, “Moraband this time. Old Sith homeworld.” 

He slaps the button to stop the machine. “I’m certain it’s lovely.” 

She snorts. _That_ he can hear. 

He leaves her to her running and steps into the showers. By the time he’s emerged again, she’s just getting off the machine, sweeping her arm across her eyes. He can feel her eyes on him, like she’s trying to puzzle him out the same way she had those reliefs on the temple walls. 

“Lieutenant?” 

Mitaka glances at her, folding the last of his exercise clothes over his arm. 

“Do you...I mean, do you know what Hux wants the crystal-whatnot for anyway?” 

It’s a fair question. He doesn’t, not really, not precisely. But he can make an educated guess. “I don’t think it’s the general who wants it so badly. Commander Ren initiated the search. General Hux was responsible for assisting.” 

Maybe he shouldn’t continue as he does, but she’s watching him, that scholar’s curiosity tilting her head as she listens. “I...imagine that competition has something to do with it. You’ve yet to meet the commander?” 

“Haven’t had the pleasure.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Yes, well. Commander Ren desires it as some sort of...Force relic. The general, who knows? You’ve said yourself that it’s powerful.” 

“Massively,” she nods, “If the stories are to be believed. As in, superweapon potential.” 

“He does have his penchants.” 

That seems to bring her little comfort. She looks away, running a hand through her hair and pulling roughly at the tangles it catches. She wants to say something, _ask_ something. He can see her pulling herself from the edge of it and why that bothers him so badly, he’s not sure. She had been so open before, carefree in what she said to him. He has to remind himself it’s his own doing if she’s more restrained now. 

He looks to the digital clock on the wall, the bright red numbers telling him he’s got time if he makes the most of it. 

“What is it?” 

She swallows and doesn’t look at him. “Do you think he really means to weaponize it? I - I only ask because I...don’t want him to be disappointed, obviously. If it’s not what he’s expecting.” 

“The Supreme Leader will have the final say as to who is granted use of it, of course. But yes, it would be the general’s duty to see that the best use of the crystal is made.” 

Her eyes narrow on him suddenly. “And that means a weapon? Do you have any idea what this crystal is historically responsible for? The properties it once -” Her voice has risen several octaves and it’s her own sudden shrillness that appears to surprise her into snapping her mouth shut. “You’re right,” she says and they both know she doesn’t mean it, “It would be the strategic decision.” 

She goes to turn away and if she does he won’t see her until that meeting and as angry with him as the general had been, he might not see her much at all after that. Not if she’s sent planetside and he’s left here. As a rule, Mitaka generally doesn’t make a habit of grabbing women; he doesn’t really touch anyone if he can help it. Not uninvited. It’s rude. But he’s reaching out for her before she can go too far. His fingers slide against her wrist, the only way he can ask her not to go right now. When she turns back to him, she’s startled, her brows raised and that sweet mouth set in a frown. 

“Something’s bothering you,” he pries gently. 

“I just...hadn’t considered the ramifications of the search, is all.” She gives him a weak smile, the first he’s seen since they’d stumbled into that chamber. “I was preoccupied with not being executed.” 

He smiles back and pride blooms in his chest when he sees hers grow a little more. “Anyone would be.” 

“You’re a benefit to the uniform, Lieutenant.” Her hand closes around his and only then does he notice he’s grasped her _other_ arm. He doesn’t know what he expects, but the metal is as warm as the rest of her. 

“I’ll see you at the meeting” she says. “Did you...want to go to Moraband? I’d like to have you there.” 

“Moral support?” 

“And competence. Mostly competence.” 

“Not always my best quality,” he chuckles, “But yes, I’ll go if that’s where I’m needed.” 

She squeezes his hand a little tighter. “Excellent. I’ll tell Hux I’d prefer it if we kept the current arrangement. He can’t fault me for it - you _do_ bumble marginally less than the others.” 

He squeezes back. 

. 

……. 

. 

Kylo Ren’s preferred method of torment leaves little to the imagination. Mitaka had been on the other side of their base camp on Moraband when he’d first noticed people scattering. The unmistakable hiss of a lightsaber had followed moments later. He’d heard shouts then, one voice angry and modulated and the other terrified and desperate, and both were all too familiar. One is _hers_. She asserts her innocence, asks the commander not to, and then her words are cut off, strangled out of her. 

Mitaka barely makes it out of the tent, bound for where those voices are coming from, when he spots a shock of red hair and long legs striding inside. Whatever ensues, the general seems to calm the issue and both he and the woman appear long minutes later. Even from so many yards away, Mitaka can see the remnants of her trembling, notices the flex-relax-flex pulse of her hands. Hux stands too close, more a guard than a commanding officer, and though the stroke of his fingers down her spine is brief, it’s there and it’s new and why is he touching her like that? 

She steps away quickly and it makes something in Mitaka’s stomach settle when she does it. The pair speak for a moment more before she’s heading his way, her eyes turning to him like he’s some sort of beacon. 

“Are you alright?” he asks the moment she’s within earshot. “Did he hurt you?” 

“Fine,” she nods and he knows she’s not because he’s been there himself, “Spooked me is all. He’s really something - the commander, I mean.” 

Anything he could say might be just short of slander, so instead he only nods - _fervently_. 

“Anyway, we best get going. Hux has arranged for our transport to leave when we’re ready.” 

They are tasked with exploring the western side of the valley. Moraband seems to consist of nothing but canyons and craggy peaks, red desert for as far as the eye can see. Even the structures, what remains of them, are stained that same bloody color and if it wasn’t for her expertise, Mitaka isn’t sure he’d be able to spot them to begin with. 

“It’s called the Valley of the Dark Lords,” she explains as they hike, “The tombs here date back _thousands_ of years. The ancient Sith academy used to be here, as well. There was a day when this place would have been swarming with prospective students. Hundreds of Sith in one place.” 

“Just murdering their way up the ranks?” he asks her. 

“You know it.” 

She had explained on the Finalizer that she suspected the men who had stolen the crystal from the witches had come from here. When questioned as to why, she had said only that the body in the chamber had worn a symbol of the academy. She postulated that he had more than likely been a cultist of some sort, loyal to a dead sect of Sith long gone. Now, that theory is being put to the test. They find themselves camping on a ridge just shy of an unknown tomb. Far in the distance, the light from Commander Ren’s camp reminds them that they are on something of a time limit - if only for professional pride. And probably the future of his career, Mitaka laments. 

His tent is pitched alongside hers and the cramped shelters of the troopers who follow them. 

She catches him before he ducks inside. 

“In the morning, I’d like to start at the academy, if we’re able.” 

That was a change of plan and it was a little late for such things, particularly when the general himself had given the directions. 

“What for?” Mitaka asks. “We’d agreed we would search the tombs. You were adamant that any relic would likely be stored inside one of those.” 

“Well, yes. But there are at least a half dozen in this valley alone. I thought that perhaps we might consider narrowing down the search area. It’s only a matter of finding the correct one, more specifically the one to which the man from the temple was aligned.” 

He frowns at her. “On the Finalizer, you seemed to believe this would all be up to chance. How do you know which tomb to search for?” 

She produces from her pocket a small ring of embossed gold - a sigil ring, he realizes. Upon closer inspection he realizes, rather morbidly, he might add, that a skeletal finger is still jutting out from either end. 

She notices the curl of his lip and says quickly, “It just popped off! Bodies _do_ that after so long.” 

“You said it was an academy symbol. What’s that, then?” He points at the curving design on the ring, unwilling to touch it. “And have you just been carrying that around? The whole finger?” 

“No, he _did_ have an academy symbol. On his chest medallion. This,” she waves the severed appendage too close to his face, “This is a symbol of a Sith Lord. I think. Don’t ask me which one, that’s why we have to look. Hopefully, there’s something left of the archives. Records of records, if nothing else.” 

Mitaka sighs and shakes his head. Before saying anything more, he steps into his tent, holding the flap open for her to follow. “You mean you don’t know?” 

“My specialty is acquisitions, Lieutenant. I know everything about stealing things and a little bit about everything else. Now,” she stuffs the finger and its ring back into her pocket. “How tired are you?” 

He should know by now not to trust questions like that one. Trusts them so little that his heart picks up speed enough to drown out coherent thought. 

“P-pardon?” 

She drops down into the dust that makes up for the floor the tent very much lacks and then leans forward to poke around in another pocket. 

“I asked how tired you were.” 

She’s still digging around and he’s still blinking stupidly at her while she does. Finally, she withdraws a small box and drops it into her lap. “Well, you haven’t collapsed yet, so you may as well sit.” 

It’s a card deck, he realizes, and his nerves ease somewhat. Still, the tent feels hotter than it had been and his fingers trail nervously up to tug at the top few buttons of his jacket. He gets the feeling that she’s making it a point not to watch him now, her hands uncharacteristically fidgety over the cards. 

_Interesting_ . 

She asks too loudly, “Have you played pazaak?” 

“No. I know sabacc, though.” 

“ _Pssh_ , sabacc is dull,” she drones, “You’ll like this better. Sit, I’ll teach you.” 

And she does. For the next hour, they wile away time that should be spent sleeping. She had been right, this is better than sabacc, if only due to the company. When he finally turns over a winning hand, she throws her head back and laughs. 

“That’s it!” 

He’s hesitant to join in, too worried his own elation might diminish the sound of hers and that would be some sort of crime somewhere. He settles for a small grin, his eyes coming to rest on her face to study the way her nose crinkles when she’s happy. She quiets down too soon before he has the chance to memorize the sight and sound of her. 

The vestiges of her mirth are still trickling out here and there in the shaking of her head and the flash of those eyes and that’s when he knows she’s no longer giggling at his triumph, but rather at him. Namely, his staring. The blush is quick and merciless and he can feel it burning up his entire face when it comes. She doesn’t seem to mind terribly. It’s only as her hands reach out to collect the deck that he finds the nerve to stop her. She’s different from him, had been from the start of it all, free where he’s been repressed too long under the weight of the uniform he wears. He should have realized. Shouldn’t have made her feel like it was somehow wrong of her to be the way she is. 

His hand comes to rest over hers, pressing it down over the cards. 

“Well then,” he tries to find his voice, and swallows hard when he does, “what do I win?” 

This surprises her. She blinks and blinks and then she’s smiling again. “What do you want, Lieutenant?” 

Anything, he thinks, anything she’d give him. 

“I...I’d like to kiss you,” he whispers because that’s all he can do, “if you’ll let me.” 

Turns out she will. 

She’s arching forward and he’s meeting her halfway before he can think better of it. Her lips are still warm like they had been, full of sins and promises, and so sweet he can’t remember anything better. His hands might be shaking, so he weaves them into her hair instead, anchoring her, holding her to him. 

Suddenly, he can’t figure out why he’d so hated the way things had turned out in the temple that day. Because this is how it is _now_ , right now, with her pliant and gasping as he works her lips with his. She groans quietly and he tastes relief, drinks it down and then laps for more - she’s going to burn him up with her fingers against his cheek. Her lips part to let him in and for more than ten years, he can’t recall kissing a woman like this. 

He shouldn’t pull her closer. He _shouldn’t,_ but he does. 

She slides against him, her arms folding around his neck. It’s natural to lay her down, feels right and good, so good. He cradles her, his arms wrapped around her, unwilling to stop the fingertips that skirt down his back and play at the hem of his opened jacket. It’s her teeth sinking into his lip that cause him to slip one arm free of her, his hand going to hers long enough to touch her, to beg her _please, don’t move_. He untucks his shirt because he understands that she won’t; she’ll wait for him to tell her to do it - to touch and stroke and claw and mark him. His hand finds hers again and leads her to his skin and he jumps as her fingertips trace his ribs and count them one by one. 

Her tongue sweeps over his lips as her palm moves to his chest; he doesn’t mean to pull her hair like he does, doesn’t mean to gasp her name and feed it back to her, doesn’t mean to roll his hips between hers and scrape her jaw with his teeth as the friction runs up his spine. 

“I want you,” his confession is barely the ghost of a breath on her face, “Stars, have I wanted you.” 

“Then have me.” 

It’s all he needs to hear. He’s already lifting her up when the ‘please’ follows. 

There’s no more than a small pallet for them in the corner. It’ll do. Anything would do. By the time he’s free of his uniform, she’s kicking her pants from around her thighs, leaving them haphazard on the ground. She’s beautiful, curves and plains and soft skin and scars here and there to mark her as her own. The slate-painted arm is a reminder of the strength she wields - the real-world embodiment of what she can bring to bear against anyone and anything. 

She’s beautiful. 

Mitaka falls against her, breathless and panting, and her hips cant upwards in demand. 

“Touch me,” she murmurs against his shoulder. “Please, touch me.” 

He touches her everywhere he can reach. He palms at the swells of her breasts and thighs and dances the pads of his fingers over her collarbone. 

She writhes and she hasn’t once begged for anything from anyone, not for her life, not from Hux nor Ren. But she begs him. As quietly as she can, she pleads with him to do his damned worst and best. His head drops to her the bend of her neck as his fingers slip past her folds and into the wet heat of her; he feels the sharp intake of breath under him and hears the hiss in his ear. 

Whispers of _yes_ and _please, more_ spur him on, wrist twisting and thumb working her clit until she trembles. 

“That’s it,” he tells her when he finds that edge, “Do it. Oh, _please_ , do it. For me.” 

She comes undone with her teeth in his shoulder, her eyes wrenching shut as he pulls from her all that he can. When his hand finally leaves her, his lips find her, soothing away her trembling breath. 

She sighs against him and it makes his lips turn up at the corners. 

“Oh, _Lieutenant_.” 

She’s shifting beneath him then, cunt damp and sticky against his belly and there’s more to do to her yet, more to do with her. There are still sounds he wants to hear, tastes he wants to sample. He wants to learn what she looks like when he fucks her. 

“Breathe, now,” he coaxes her, though it can’t be easy as his lips find hers again. She’s reaching for him, sliding so that she can follow the faint trail of hair on his stomach that leads down. 

“I’ve noticed something,” she says as she takes her time, letting him twitch, fingers roving everywhere but where he needs them. 

He sucks in a breath. “ _Nnh_ , have you?” 

“Mmm, yes. You’ve a beautiful cock, Lieutenant.” 

It’s nice to be appreciated, even as that appreciation finally closes around his length with a curious squeeze. He chokes, words and sounds tangled at the back of his throat. She pumps him to test him, thumb rolling over his cockhead and back down again, and grins as he quivers in her grasp. 

“Let me - unh, please?” He drops his forehead to hers and begs again, “Please.” 

She tilts her head away, eyes dancing. “Please?” 

“Let me have you,” he gasps, “Take you. Stars, let me _fuck_ you.” 

A heartbeat later she’s lifting her hips to meet his and cursing as he snaps his hips forward. She’s tight, so tight around him as he starts to move. She meets him thrust for thrust, hips rolling, thighs hitching him closer. 

“So good,” he kisses her, “So good.” 

She flutters around him and he feels the scrape of her nails on his back, along with the press of metal that drives him deeper. Her voice is pressing murmurs incoherently against his skin, nipping and sucking when the syllables won’t come anymore. He can feel the electric pressure as it builds, threatening to burst before he’s had enough. He’s not sure he could ever have enough - could never drink enough of her sounds or watch her lashes flutter too much or feel her squeeze too hard around his cock. 

He hits a spot within her that causes her to fold around him and all at once he can’t get close enough to her. He whispers her name, over and over, and she’s shaking her head, trying to hold off the wave threatening to pull her under. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, “I can’t -” 

He can’t because the world is starting to fade at the edges. He can’t hold on and he’s got to take her with him when he falls. 

“Let go,” he hears her say, “I want everything.” 

Yes, he thinks, maybe he even says so, but he doesn’t know anymore as she suddenly goes taut beneath him, her back arching, hips locking like vices around him, and the clench of her drags him to the peak and throws him down with a brutality he’s never known before. Stars die and are born behind his eyes and the keen she makes as he spills inside her is enough to stop his universe where it spins. She milks him until he can’t give anymore and when he can’t, when he’s done and shuddering, she kisses him and steals what’s left. 

She steals her prize with a smile and choking laughter and he lets her make off with it just because he _shouldn’t_. 

. 

………. 

. 


	3. Fight the Good Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep an eye out for Part Two with General Hux. It will be posted separately and will be titled "The Acquisitionist: Part Two, the General."  
> Thank you for reading!

The Sith Academy does not disappoint. Commander Ren would positively _have kittens_ if he were with them now, of that Mitaka is certain. They, however, had not told the Knight of Ren of their change of plans. General Hux had been informed and seemed so gleeful at the sudden upper hand that he’d chosen to overlook the fact that their resident acquisitionist had decided not to make him aware of the ring until now. 

The main building is in ruin after a thousand years of abuse by the elements but the massive stonework still stands, as indomitable as the dark side that inspired it. 

“My knowledge of ancient Sith architectural proclivities are a little rusty,” the woman explains to him once they’ve completed a sweep of the immediate vicinity. “We’ll have to fan out, look for anything that looks like it might have housed data.” 

They are in agreement and Mitaka gives the orders to the troopers who accompany them to explore in groups of two. It doesn’t take as long as he had feared for something to be found, a call coming in from the soldiers who had headed up the imposing set of stairs just off the entryway. He’s practically dragged along behind her, a victim of secondhand giddiness as he follows. 

The stormtroopers are already spread about the room when she and Mitaka reach the location. The space itself could be nothing but an archive, lined with shelves upon shelves that had once stored histories and secrets alike. 

“This is it!” She whirls to face him and she’s so happy with herself that it’s all he can do not to take her face in his hands and kiss her until she calms down. The troopers gossip like housewives though, and after last night, he’s unwilling to provide them with any more fodder. 

“I want records,” she tells the waiting men. “Anything and everything you can find. Put them here by me, please.” 

In the end, it takes the lot of them three hours to come up with nothing. Half the troopers have been dispatched to other rooms to look for new areas and the others are weaving in bored resignation between the shelving to try and find anything that had been overlooked. Mitaka takes a moment to place his hand on the acquisitionist’s shoulder and squeeze. 

“It’s alright,” he says, “It was a good idea.” 

She’s sprawled on the ground, feet tucked under her, with books and holodiscs littered on every side. She scowls, less at him than at the tomes that have disappointed her. Looking up, the beginnings of frustrated words are on her tongue when she snaps her mouth closed with the clack of teeth and squints _beyond_ him. Suddenly, she’s on her feet in a flurry of limbs and muttered curses. 

“Of course,” she cries. “Seven hells, of course! Look!” 

Mitaka does as he’s asked and peers up to where she’s pointing, trying to look through the shadows of the towering ceiling. 

“He was an archivist! That wasn’t the sigil of some dead lord on his ring, it was for the fucking _library_.” 

Breathless, she’s rummaging in her pockets again, only to pull out that same desiccated finger and its ring. It turns a few heads, the troopers in the room looking at one another for answers. There are, of course, none to be found until she deems otherwise. 

“Where? Where was it?” She shoves the digit at Mitaka to hold, already chasing down the thoughts whirling in her mind while he’s busy making faces and reluctantly accepting the finger. He places it delicately on the nearest shelf while her back is turned - he’ll be damned if he puts it in his pocket. 

Wiping his hands along his jacket, he asks, “Where was what?” 

“There was a holodisc on...damn it. Where is - here!” 

She snatches the object in question from beneath the toe of her boot. 

“Yes, it’s a lecture on Paecian. Old Dathomirian language,” she mumbles, “That’s what’s important.” 

“Why -” 

“Because it’s the only thing in this Force-forsaken archive that has anything to do with anything. Where else were our archivist friends going to store something? It’d be like putting your recipe box in the ‘fresher. It has to be amongst these things, the archives would have been in no better state when they were here. It’s only been two, three hundred years.” 

“It could have been moved by now -” Mitaka goes silent when the woman gives him a look as if to say, _No. No, it couldn’t._

The holodisc - if it’s even inside - is held within a sealed case that would take some considerable prying on anyone else’s part to open, crusty with age and who knows what else. Her ultrachrome modification makes short work of the encasement, however, ripping away the cover and letting it clatter to the ground in pieces. 

Mitaka leans over her shoulder and it’s only when he gets a good look at what’s inside that he notices how still she’s gone. 

“That’s no holodisc,” he remarks lowly, brow furrowing as the discontent takes root. 

_It_ is also not the crystal they had been hunting. No longer than three inches in length, the little datastick contained within is noticeably, glaringly _new._ It gleams mockingly at them, the Corellian production label painfully obvious along one edge of the stick. 

“I don’t understand,” she says quietly. “Who else has been here? Ren? Who?” 

She rounds on Mitaka, the building anger in her eyes unsettling. He’s reminded of that first day their paths crossed on board her ship and the cold-roiling fury that had had him wondering just how fast a runner Dameron might be. 

“Your datapad,” she says as she thrusts her hand toward him, “Give it to me.” 

He hands it off and waits as she feeds the datastick into the port. What he doesn’t expect is the reaction that ensues moments after the data loads. A choked breath of disbelief is the only warning Mitaka is given before she’s raring back to hurl the datapad against the nearest wall. He throws his weight against her, hands scrabbling to take back the items she’s suddenly so hell-bent on smashing, items that would come out of his meager paycheck, never mind any evidence that might be lost. 

She turns them loose without a fight, only to send her fist crashing through the closest set of shelving instead. 

“Damn it!” she snarls. “Damn that son of a bitch! Thieving, inbred, Chaos-damned gizka fucker - I’m gonna kill him -” 

Taken aback by the vehemence in her words, Mitaka spares a glance at the datapad in his hands - and then _understands_. 

The text flashing back at him from the screen is short, enragingly so. A one-two punch that very nearly has him abandoning his own decorum and joining her in her colorful chorus of choice words. 

Just there, glowing in blue letters, reads: 

_Resistance - 2, First Order - 0. Tell Hux and Ren to step up their game. It’s embarrassing._

\- _A Very Important Resistance Pilot and Friends_

“It’s Dameron,” the woman seethes. “How’d he -” 

Her question is drowned out by the modulated voice of one of the stormtroopers. 

“Lieutenant Mitaka, sir?” 

Mitaka scowls, his own words sharp as he responds. “What is it?” 

“There’s a call coming in for you, sir. The general’s trying to reach you.” 

Mitaka feels his stomach drop to his knees. He wants to groan. He wants to hide in the first ancient Sith crypt he can find and never come out. Because it’s _over_ , there won’t be any coming back from this. The end of his career has been spelled out by a backwater Resistance thug and his compatriots. 

_Oh, stars..._

With a gulp and a forlorn glance at the woman doing a spot-on Kylo Ren impression a few feet away, he accepts the holocommunicator from the trooper and presses the button to accept the call. 

“General Hux, sir -” 

Hux is no less intimidating in holographic miniature, his posture tense, hands clenched at his sides rather than behind his back as is most often the case. His superior’s voice silences him before he can speak another word. 

“Lieutenant! What is your position?” 

“I-in the old Academy, General. We’ve located the archives.” 

“And where is the woman?” 

“She’s here, sir. General,” Mitaka sucks in a breath and tries not to choke on it, “Sir, I’m afraid we’ve, _ahem_ , run into some trouble -” 

“Unsurprisingly, Lieutenant. Report to base camp immediately. Ensure that our resident _acquisitionist_ accompanies you.” 

And like that, Hux disconnects the call, leaving Mitaka wide-eyed and worried. 

The woman, hardly recovered from her outburst, is the first to speak. “He sounds...like he’s had some bad news.” 

“Indeed,” Mitaka swallows the breath he’s been holding since the call ended. “How did this happen? When did it happen? We had the valley surrounded since yesterday morning!” 

“I know. I _know_. I -” Her face falls and she shakes her head. “Ugh, no, I don’t. I don’t know. How long did the First Order spend sweeping the area before establishing the camp?” 

“I assume General Hux sent the first teams shortly after you informed him of the location.” 

She runs her thumb over the knuckles of her metal hand, as though she means to pop them, an odd action likely left over from when she’d been flesh and blood in her entirety. 

“This won’t end well,” she says quietly, her eyes turning up to find his. How can he meet them knowing she’s right? She’ll see the fear in him, she’ll see it because he can see it in her, deepening the shadows around her eyes and dimpling her chin. 

No, this won’t end well at all. 

It never does for people like them. 

. 

……….. 

. 


End file.
